


Trophy Wife

by MichelleHolland (ViolaWay)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Police, Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Murder, Policeman!Harry, Schmoop
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-06
Updated: 2013-09-06
Packaged: 2017-12-25 19:28:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/956795
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ViolaWay/pseuds/MichelleHolland
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis and Eleanor had a tempestuous marriage, but when she's found dead he's forced to convince everyone that it wasn't his fault.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Trophy Wife

Trophy Wife

“Fucking hell.” Louis’ knees buckled; he was falling before he even realized what was happening.

 

“We’re very sorry,” the police officer said gruffly, offering his arm to help Louis up. He seemed genuine, with soft brown eyes and a downturned mouth, looking as though he honestly cared about Louis. That was nice.

 

Still.

 

“Like hell you are.” Louis could be difficult at the best of times, and this was not the best of times. He blinked back the tears that had managed to well up and shook his head.

 

The policeman obviously decided it wasn’t worth convincing him of the sincerity behind the apology, so he didn’t try.

 

“We’ll need to bring you down to the station.”

 

“Of course you will.” Louis paused. “It wasn’t me.” That, at least, was true, and he needed to say it, out loud. It wasn’t him.

 

“I know,” said the officer. “We just need to ask you a few questions. Standard procedure.” Louis rolled his eyes, even though he understood the necessity of this procedure. That didn’t mean he had to like it. It felt like he was being accused, like they didn’t trust him enough to take him at his word. Which was, of course, because they didn’t. He knew that.

 

“Alright,” he said grudgingly. “What’s your name?”

 

“It’s Liam.” The policeman looked like he was unwilling to part with this bit of information, but Louis didn’t care.

 

“Will you be interrogating me, Liam?” Louis asked.

 

“I’m afraid not,” Liam replied. “You’re low risk; you haven’t got a criminal record to speak of and it’s unlikely that you’ll be treated as a major suspect, so we’ll have one of our newer recruits interview you.”

 

“Sounds perfect.”

 

***

 

“Did you kill your wife?”

 

“No.”

 

“Well, it always helps to start simple,” the new police officer shrugged. “So, where were you last night?”

 

Louis hesitated.

 

“It’s better if you tell the truth,” the policeman suggested. “No matter how embarrassing it is. That way, we have no reason to suspect you.”

 

“Fine. I was at my…friend’s house.”

 

“Are you lying?”

 

“No.”

 

“It’s just…you sound like you’re lying. What’s up? Come on, you can tell me. And whoever listens to this tape, I suppose.” The man tapped the voice recorder with a long finger.

 

“I was at my best friend’s house fucking him,” Louis admitted. “Happy now?”

 

“Extremely so,” the policeman smiled. “And the woman who died…”

 

“Yeah, she was my wife. But I have an alibi, don’t I.”

 

“I suppose so. It’s just one of the funnier ones I’ve heard,” the officer tittered.

 

“I’m glad you find it so amusing,” Louis responded dryly.

 

“Sorry,” the man cleared his throat. “That was unprofessional. And your friend is…?”

 

“Zayn Malik.”

 

“Lucky guy.”

 

Louis raised an eyebrow.

 

“Right, sorry!” the policeman said, blushing.

 

“Mm. What’s your name?” Louis asked idly.

 

“Harry. Harry Styles.”

 

“Right. So, so far we’ve ascertained that I did not kill my wife, and that I have a perfectly sound alibi. Can I go yet?”

 

“Did she know?”

 

“What?”

 

“Your wife…Eleanor, did she know about you and Zayn?” Harry asked. Louis got a feeling that this was not one of those questions that police officers were meant to ask, but what the hell.

 

“Nope. Suspected, though. More than that, actually. You know I’m rich?”

 

“I’m aware of that, yes.”

 

“Well, I inherited my business from my dad, and he set me up with her. But we’ve never had sex, and we only kissed when we were in front of my family. Bit of a problem, that. So she knew that I was gay, or at least that I didn’t like her all that much. And these meetings with Zayn were a pretty regular thing, so.”

 

“So you didn’t love her?” Harry confirmed.

 

“Will it count against me?”

 

“Not unless you murdered her.”

 

“Ha ha.”

 

“So?”

 

“No, of course not. I’m gay. She was in it for the money anyhow,” Louis replied.

 

“I think that’ll do. I’ll have to interview Zayn, too.”

 

“Sure.”

***

 

“Louis, I think that police officer has a crush on you the size of Mount fucking Everest,” Zayn said, getting into the car that Louis was loitering in outside of the station.

 

“Oh, come on.”

 

“No, you come on. It was like circle time in the playground all over again. ‘Do you think he likes me?’ I swear to God…”

 

“He didn’t actually say that, did he?” Louis tried not to sound too eager, but Zayn knew too much about him.

 

“Oh God, not you, too. Fucking saps, the both of you. You’ll be happy together. Don’t you even care about Eleanor, or are you literally already working out how to get into Curly’s pants?”

 

“I’m not!” Louis protested. “We just…flirted a little bit.”

 

“While discussing your dead wife!?”

 

“Okay, when you say it like that it sounds creepy.”

 

“It is fucking creepy!” Zayn said, exasperated.

 

“You know what, you slept with me when I was still married to her. You don’t have a leg to stand on with your morals. Honestly,” Louis tutted.

 

“Do you even care about her?” Zayn asked wearily.

 

Louis paused. “Yes. I would never have wanted this to happen. But it’s done now, and I don’t want my life to be controlled anymore.”

 

Zayn’s expression sobered, and he put a gentle hand on Louis’ shoulder. “I’m sorry,” he murmured.

 

Louis blinked and put his foot on the pedal, speeding away.

 

“It’s not like I’ll ever see him again.”

 

***

 

“Further fucking questioning,” Louis raged, holding up the letter and storming around Zayn’s flat (he hadn’t gone back home, couldn’t have if he’d wanted to). “I didn’t kill her!”

 

“Louis,” Zayn said wearily (and admittedly, it was six am). “You were her husband. Of course you’re a prime suspect.”

 

“Can you drive me there?”

 

“Do it yourself.”

 

“Can’t.”

 

“Why not?” Zayn asked.

 

“…I’m still a little bit drunk.”

 

“Oh, Louis…”

 

Louis shook his head. He didn’t want the pity. It wasn’t like he hadn’t expected this, but it felt like a disgrace to Eleanor’s memory, him being treated as a suspect. He would never have done something so disgusting to her and she knew it. Still, they thought it would’ve—could’ve—been him. And then there was the fact that she was dead. They’d laughed, they’d talked: It wasn’t like he couldn’t stand her. And now she was a memory, and all those times he’d harbored resentment for this girl, who had, after all, just been after something he’d had all his life (money) seemed like a mistake now.

 

Zayn half-smiled and led him out to the car. They drove to the station in silence, and when they drew up beside the curb, Zayn said “Do you want me to wait for you?”

 

Louis said “No.”

 

Walking through the doors, he gave him name at the desk and he was back in what he had decided to christen ‘The Harry Room’. Harry was there already, picking at his thumbnail.

 

“You said I wouldn’t have to come back,” Louis said accusingly, taking a seat.

 

“I didn’t,” Harry replied, perfectly reasonably. Louis huffed and crossed his arms.

 

Harry took that as license to continue: “You’re not here because we think you did it. You know we talked to Zayn a few days ago. He offered to show us an empty condom packet if we weren’t convinced of your innocence,” Harry paused there to wrinkle his nose. “So we’re trusting his word. But did you know about Eleanor’s criminal record?”

 

“No. What record?”

 

“Shoplifting, blackmail, fraud… The list goes on. She had a mysterious woman—went by different names each time—bail her out. Were you aware of any of this?” Harry inquired.

 

“No,” Louis replied honestly. “What names did the woman go by?”

 

“Leigh-Anne, Jesy, Jade…”

 

“So she alternated between those three?”

 

“She did, yes.”

 

“You think that woman killed her?” Louis assumed.

 

“Very astute. Yes, we do. Or an associate.”

 

“For fuck’s sake.”

 

“We have a few leads.” Harry ignored the last statement. “The names she gave weren’t fake. There’s a Leigh-Anne Pinnock, Jade Thirlwall and Jesy Nelson in this general area. We’re bringing them in for questioning.”

 

“Good. Let me know when you get anything. Can I leave now?” Louis got up without waiting for an answer, although he might have heard Harry mutter something under his breath. He wasn’t sure.

 

“I wish you wouldn’t.”

 

***

 

When Louis first met Perrie Edwards, he was convinced that she couldn’t have murdered Eleanor, because Perrie didn’t look like she could’ve murdered anyone. She looked a little confused, purple hair bright against her blonde hair and long, hippie skirt down to her ankles, bead and bangles adorning her arms.

 

“Hello,” she said. “I didn’t kill your wife.”

 

“Neither did I,” Louis replied.

 

She nodded and tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “I’m sorry for your loss,” she murmured.

 

“How did you know her?” Louis blurted out.

 

“We used to be friends when she wore clothes from Charity Shops,” Perrie smiled. “When she could barely afford to feed herself or her family. We went to school together. She got into a lot of shit; the shoplifting and everything, and then recently it all started again. She didn’t want me to get involved, so I went by the fake names.”

 

“Sounds like you’re telling the truth,” Louis commented.

 

“That’s because I am,” she smiled. “They’re treating me like a murderer, though. It’s insulting…she was my best friend.”

 

“I’ll have a talk with them,” Louis joked.

 

As it was, he did manage to catch Harry, taking him aside and telling him what he thought. Harry shrugged.

 

“I don’t know. You’ve gotta learn not to trust people unless they have proof, in this job.”

 

“Don’t be a dick.”

 

“I wasn’t trying to be.”

 

“Look me in the eye and tell me you think she’s a valid lead for this case. C’mon, try it,” Louis challenged.

 

Harry coughed and averted his eyes. “It’s not about what I think.”

 

“Help me, then.”

 

“Do what?”

 

“Find the real murderer. Look, you lot are chasing wild fucking geese, thinking Perrie’s gonna lead you to the truth. With your help, I think I can actually get the bastard who killed her locked up. If you don’t want to…”

 

He was interrupted by Harry’s lips on his, hard and fierce and very, very unprofessional, murmuring ‘yes, yes, yes’ over and over again.

 

***

 

“Niall Horan?”

 

The blond man at the door visibly gulped, and Louis’ hand tightened on the voice recorder in his pocket. His palms were sweaty.

 

“Wha’d’you want?” Niall mumbled, moving aside to let Louis enter. Louis was still resentful that he had to do this; Harry had claimed ‘awful-liar privilege’ and probably wasn’t going to get stabbed.

 

Walking into the front room, Louis was forced to reassess his judgement. He had, admittedly, been expecting torture chambers.

 

“I’m Louis Tomlinson,” Louis introduced himself, knowing full well that the pleasantries were unnecessary. “I believe you knew my wife, Eleanor?”

 

“I-I did…” Niall answered nervously.

 

“Are you know she’s dead now, yes?”

 

“N-No, I wasn’t aware… I’m sorry for your—”

 

“Yeah, yeah, cut the crap. Where were you that night?” Louis demanded.

 

“What night?”

 

“Stop with the bullshit already.”

 

“I was out…at a pub.”

 

“Which pub?”

 

“I-I don’t know.”

 

“Look, Niall, I don’t think you’re a bad guy,” Louis said gently. “But my wife’s dead. I just wanna know why you did it.”

 

There were tears in Niall’s eyes, and he sniffed loudly in the settling silence of the room. “I’m sorry,” he murmured. “She stole my life away from me. All my money, all of what I’d worked for. I was so, so angry.”

 

It was a moral dilemma that had Louis, eighteen minutes later, rushing from the room and throwing the voice recorder to the ground, stamping his foot onto it. It wasn’t Eleanor’s fault, nor was it Niall’s. They’d both made mistakes, and a lot of them, but without them, Louis wouldn’t have gained his freedom, and he wouldn’t have got…

 

Harry.

 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers, when Harry’s arms are around him. “I know it’s stupid, but I feel like it’s my fault she died. I don’t want to ruin someone else’s life. He’s not a bad man.”

 

“I don’t know… Sometimes they can hide it well, Lou,” Harry murmurs, but his fingers card comfortingly through Louis’ hair and he presses kisses all over Louis’ face. “But… I think you did the right thing.”

 

“I love you,” Louis says quietly. “I know it’s soon, but I never felt this way about anyone—not El or Zayn or any of them.”

 

“I love you, too,” Harry replies. “You’re a stubborn asshole, but I love you.”


End file.
